


The Space In Between

by JB Harris (LizAna)



Series: The Janto Files [6]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: 7 stages of grief, Aliens, Angst, Drinking, Episode: s01e13 End of Days, Fallout, Humour, M/M, Song Inspired, Team Dynamics, What Happened After, janto, space butler in action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizAna/pseuds/JB%20Harris
Summary: Directly picks up at the end of s01e13 End of Days after Jack has disappeared without a word to chase after the Doctor. Because I always wondered how the team worked through Jack not being there. Some angst. Some heavy drinking. Some humour. Ianto missing Jack. A few aliens. Lots of team bonding.(Can be read as a standalone, but loosely follows on from my fic After Images. There will also be a follow up part after Jack has returned called Catching On.)





	1. Chapter 1

_You are the hole in my head. You are the space in my bed. You are the silence in between what I thought and what I said. You are the night time fear. You are the morning when it’s clear. When it’s over you’re the start. You’re in my head, you’re in my heart._

Florence + The Machines

It was the missing hand that gave him the first clue. Well, not so much a clue as it being an oddity. After the incident with the sex gas alien, when Jack had let a dangerous possessed girl free from the hub and been more concerned about the hand rather than chasing her down before she could kill anyone else, Ianto had realised it must have been vitally important. Whether to Jack personally or as a Torchwood thing, he had no idea and he’d never asked. They’d never discussed it. While the others had set about tracking Carys through CCTV on the quay until Tosh had lost her in a rare black spot without coverage, Ianto had silently and quickly helped Jack find a new glass containment box for the hand and filled it with the goop keeping it preserved.

After that, neither of them had mentioned it again, but Ianto had taken on the task of regularly checking the limb, making sure the containment chamber was operating correctly and monitoring for signs of degradation in the flesh. He had no idea if Jack had realised he’d added it to his long list of regular duties, but as it went with a lot of things between them, they’d had a perfectly good system of don’t-ask-don’t-tell going on, which had kept things simple.

At least he thought it had. He’d been kidding himself, though. In a few short days, everything—personally and professionally—had gone to hell. Jack and Tosh stuck in 1941, the rift, Abaddon, Jack and his apparent immortality, and the kiss in front of the entire team, followed by a heart to heart with Jack who’d admitted he’d made mistakes when it came to the two of them. Jack had told Ianto that he needed him, unknowingly echoing the words he himself had told Owen in the heat of the moment when they’d been arguing over opening the rift. Owen had taunted him— _in your sad wet dreams where you're Jack’s part-time shag maybe_ —as if it’d never occurred to Owen that someone like Jack would actually ever want to be with Ianto. He’d wanted to throw it in Owen’s face, that he’d been sleeping with Jack for months, it wasn’t just a fantasy. And while it might have been undefined and casual, one thing had become patently clear; Jack needed him in a way that was different with the others, so that was exactly what he’d told Owen, even if he’d never really realised it himself until that very moment.

Though he’d all but had an epiphany over it, hearing Jack say those words had sent him reeling. He might not have said it in return, but the truth was, he needed Jack just as much, if not more. The past few days had shown him that with all alacrity. 

Now the hand was missing and Gwen seemed to think someone or something had taken Jack.

“I’ll check his office, see if there’s any clues up there,” he told the others, who were still shooting questions at Gwen. They barely spared him any attention, so he set the takeaway tray of coffees he’d been holding on a nearby desk and hurried up to Jack’s office. He checked to make sure none of them were watching then quickly accessed Jack’s computer, bringing up CCTV surrounding the hub for the past half an hour. It didn’t take him long to find the answer. A blue box materialised at the base of the water tower for no more than a few brief moments. _The Doctor_. A strange shudder went through him. He’d heard all kinds of stories of The Doctor while he’d worked at Torchwood One, both good and bad. More than a few times, he’d wondered if Jack had travelled with the man at some point; he hadn’t figured there was any other way Jack could have seen what he’d seen and done what he’d done, if one assumed most of Jack’s outlandish stories were true, which Ianto had started suspecting a while ago actually were.

But it wasn’t only that. The Doctor had been there that day. Canary Wharf. He’d found out later that The Doctor had been the one to stop the Daleks and Cybermen; too late to save the more than eight-hundred employees who had died horrible, violent deaths.

He dragged a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away the dark memories so easily and forced himself back to the present. Jack had never talked directly about The Doctor, never told them anything about the hand, but suddenly Jack’s words from earlier came back to him. _I can’t promise that I won’t have to leave again, but I’ll always come back to you, Ianto Jones_.

Had Jack known The Doctor was coming, but hadn’t wanted or been able to say anything about it for some reason? He’d thought at the time they were simply talking about the shocking and extremely disconcerting fact that Jack had a slight problem staying dead, not intergalactic time travel in a blue police box.

Making a snap decision, Ianto swiftly typed a command into the computer, corrupting and deleting the CCTV footage in a way not even Tosh would be able to recover. Jack had trusted him with so much already—he had access in passwords and protocols around the hub that none of the others had, including the secure archives and Jack’s safe. He knew about Flat Holm. He’d long ago taken over handling the multiple bank accounts including Jack’s personal finances. He might have only been general administration, or the teaboy as Owen constantly liked to point out, but he’d pretty much taken over running this place from the background months ago. Had Jack done it on purpose, because he knew one day he was going to leave and needed to know someone would be able to run things in his absence, so that the team and Torchwood Three wouldn’t simply fall apart? Maybe he was reading into Jack simply being too much _Jack_ to do it all himself when he didn’t have to. But for now, he was going to keep yet another secret for Captain Jack Harkness and hope those words he’d spoken were true, that eventually he would come back, even if he now had all of time and space to explore—though after over a hundred years spent in Cardiff, Ianto couldn’t really blame him if he never returned.

He shut down the CCTV program and stood, casting a glance across Jack’s neat desk, still in the pristine condition he’d kept it in when he’d thought Jack had been killed by Abaddon.

“Anything, Ianto, sweetheart?” Gwen was leaning into the office doorway, looking at him expectantly.

He summoned a small smile that no doubt looked grim. “No, nothing.”

And it was back to lying to the team again, just like he had all those months with Lisa. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t drunk the coffee he’d bought as guilt burned like acid in his stomach.

“I’m just checking CCTV of the surrounding area,” Tosh called out, gaining Gwen’s attention.

“Good idea, Tosh,” Gwen turned to jog back down the stairs and cross to the work stations, while Ianto followed at a more sedate pace. He paused to watch them as Tosh discovered the missing footage, then Gwen and Owen quickly got into an argument about what to do next.

Taking a deep breath and knowing things were possibly going to get even harder once Jack’s disappearance really sank in, he stepped forward to unobtrusively manage the disagreement in a way that left Owen and Gwen feeling like they’d come to their own decisions, while Tosh hid a knowing smile.  

Where Jack had gone, and for whatever reason he’d left so suddenly without a word, Ianto only hoped it was worth it.


	2. Shock and Denial

Coffee probably wasn’t the best idea at two o’clock in the morning, but the team weren’t going anywhere and he needed a break from the increasing tension between Gwen and Owen. They couldn’t agree on a single damn thing and it didn’t help that their affair had obviously come to a recently awkward end, making things even more difficult. It was clear they were going to have an all-out row at some stage over who was in charge. Whether that happened tonight or in the coming days or weeks, Ianto couldn’t guess. He just knew he didn’t want to be anywhere near them when it happened.  

_Days or weeks_. Would Jack really be gone that long? What if it was more like months or years? What if he _never_ came back? The thought made him pause to glance up from making coffee, and when he did, he found himself staring at Jack’s blue and white stripped mug.

And unpleasant shudder ran through him, leaving his stomach churning. He told himself it was just the anxiety of all the responsibilities that now fell to him, without Jack there silently bolstering him, even though he’d never really needed it. When it came to Torchwood, he could do what needed to be done, much of it with his eyes closed. What left him feeling sick was the knowledge that Jack had been his foundation since Lisa had died and he hadn’t allowed himself to admit it. Without Jack, he was terrified he would crumble again like he had after Canary Wharf and Lisa being killed. Be broken all over again, trapped in a spiral of pain and misery that only had one solution, a permanent solution that should never be the answer, but one he’d contemplated more than a few times during his darkest days.

Tremors rocked him and he unsteadily moved to sit on a nearby chair, breathing through his nose as he clenched his jaw against the numbness spreading through his body. He might have been going into shock, he distantly realised, and for half a second considered calling for Owen.

_No_. He’d be fine. Everything would be fine. Any minute now, Jack would swan through the cog wheel door, or slowly descend on the lift with his hands clasped behind his back, like a king surveying his domain and laugh about the fact they’d pulled an all-nighter trying to work out where he’d gone. He’d tell them some ridiculous story and then order them home to their beds.

“Ianto, are you alright?”

He glanced up to see Gwen standing a few steps away, staring at him in concern.

“Just a bit weary, been a long few days.” He sent her what he hoped was a calm smile and quickly returned to making the coffee.

“It has been,” she agreed, moving to stand up beside him. “Long and surprising.”

He cut her a sideways glance, wondering which part she found most surprising. Though, one thing in particular couldn’t have been surprising at all. In fact, she had been adamant and right about it.

“You knew he couldn’t die.” He’d been trying not to think about it too closely. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But out of all the privileges and secrets and exclusive access Jack had given Ianto to both the hub and himself personally, Jack had kept the biggest truth of all from him, yet told Gwen. _Why_ was too simple a question for the feelings that stirred within him.

“I believed. I didn’t know for sure.” She crossed her arms, expression somewhat closed off.

“How long?” He tried to keep the words casual, but Gwen was now regarding him warily, probably the same way he was regarding her, like they were sizing one another up, he realised.

Her feelings for Jack were no secret. Over the months since he and Jack had started sleeping together, he’d forced himself not to think about it. One, because what he and Jack had shared was entirely casual, so if the man wanted to sleep with half of bloody Cardiff, Ianto didn’t get to have an opinion about that. Two, Jack would always be Jack and it was hard for him to see Jack committing to any one person for any length of time. And three, after the incident in the Brecon Beacons during which Jack had found out about Owen and Gwen sleeping together, Jack had seemingly toned down his flirting with Gwen—not that she’d noticed. There’d still been moments when Ianto had been sure Jack would inevitably and eventually sleep with her, but since the thought of both him and Gwen shagging Jack concurrently made him distinctly uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, he’d simply jammed the thought down into the depths of his mind and refused to contemplate it.

“Since the start,” Gwen finally answered. “The night I was retconned. Suzie shot him through the head, right in front of me. A few minutes later he stood up like nothing had happened. I saw the bullet wound in his forehead heal and close up. He told me later that he couldn’t die. That was it, though. Never explained how or why. But I don’t think I really believed it until he was killed by Lisa—”

He clattered the cup he was holding, sloshing coffee over the rim as a flash of shock ripped through him. He turned to fully face Gwen.

“What do you mean he was killed by Lisa?” He’d steadfastly refused to discuss anything that had happened that night, but no one had mentioned anything about Jack dying. Slight oversight, there. One would think the boss being killed might be something worth mentioning.

“The others didn’t realise he actually died and came back, or if they did, they’ve never said anything about it.” Gwen’s expression softened slightly. “It was while you were unconscious. He used himself as a distraction so the rest of us could escape. When I talked to him about it later, he said that just for a second, he really had thought he could die after all, that he’d finally be free. But he came back. So I had to believe that he’d come back after Abaddon as well.”

He turned back to start blindly cleaning up the spilled coffee. Jack had died because of him. Yes, he’d revived, but if Jack hadn’t been immortal—

He had to close his eyes for a moment and take a long breath. It was in the past. They’d all come a long way since then. It wasn’t worth feeling guilty over something Jack had already forgiven him for, even if Ianto hadn’t realised exactly _how much_ Jack was forgiving him for.

“After he came back—” There was a tightness to Gwen’s voice now, and Ianto’s heart skipped a beat as he guessed what was coming next.

He focused more determinedly on what he was doing, not looking directly at her.

“I suppose its not any of my business—”

“Then don’t ask,” he snapped more sharply than he intended. Except it didn’t deter Gwen in the least.

“But it might be important now,” she insisted. “He kissed you like—well, there was obviously something going on between the two of you.”

It’d been inevitable, really, that eventually the team would get a few quiet moments to think about things and want to know what the kiss meant.

“And?”

“Did he say anything?” She grabbed his arm and tugged him around to face her, a hint of anger in her expression, and probably jealousy too, but he didn’t want to face that. He was not getting into some ridiculous workplace love triangle with Gwen Cooper and Jack bloody Harkness. “Do you know something about him leaving? I know you usually take things in your stride, but you’ve been calm and quiet tonight, even more put together than usual. If you know something, Ianto—”

“If I’m put together, it’s because someone needs to be. I’m sure Jack will be back any minute now, but in the meantime, we don’t need hysterics and arguments every two seconds about what to do next. What we need is to work as a team, to prove we can cope while Jack isn’t here and not let the bloody world fall into the rift!”

Gwen took a step back, expression landing somewhere between shock and indignation.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, before turning to pick up her mug. He handed it over, and she took it almost reluctantly.

“I’m sorry. Long night.” He added a smile, though he knew it was strained around the edges.

“I’m sorry too, that I didn’t realise how much Jack meant to you. You must have taken it hard when you thought Abaddon—”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “It was nothing. Just—” He didn’t know what it was, but he sure as hell didn’t want to discuss it with Gwen. “Let’s just leave it alone, yeah?”

She gave a reluctant nod and then turned to leave, but paused after she took a few steps.

“Ianto, I know you don’t talk much, or maybe you talked to Jack, I don’t know. But if you need someone else to talk to, I’m always here.”

He sent her a nod, more to acknowledge her words, rather than an agreement that he’d ever go to her to talk about anything. He didn’t want to be terrible, but he got the feeling it’d be more about Gwen feeding her own curiosity and trying to reconcile what it meant that he and Jack were together—or had been together—in terms of where it left her standing with Jack, rather than stemming from a place where she actually cared about Ianto’s welfare. If he was going to talk to anyone, it would have been Tosh. But denial of all things had worked a treat for him, along with a hint of ignore-and-repress. So that was exactly what he’d keep doing. And hope the team didn’t manage to tear themselves apart in the meantime.


	3. Pain and Guilt

Ianto dropped down on the worn sofa and slouched against the cushions, staring out across the empty hub. The others had gone home a while ago... he couldn’t say how long exactly. As usual, he had a few last things to take care of before he could call it a night. Those done, he just needed a few minutes off his feet before he did the final shut down and lock up for the night.

His entire body ached with fatigue, and even the thought of getting in his car and driving home seemed like too much effort. They’d been running for almost thirty-six hours straight after what they’d assumed to be some kind of evacuation pod had come through the rift. Tosh had analysed the craft and Ianto had organised to have it transported to a Torchwood warehouse—via Gwen getting Rhys and his haulage firm involved for clandestine use of a lorry—they’d then been trying to run down the single occupant they thought may have been on board, due to Tosh believing it wouldn’t survive very long in their atmosphere.

Unfortunately, Tosh had been right, and by the time they’d found it, the poor being had perished, hiding alone and no doubt scared. It would have been a terrible way to die, and they’d all felt for the creature, returning silently to the hub, no doubt all experiencing the same sense of having failed this time as Ianto did. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d have found it faster with Jack here who seemed to have so much random information about various aliens stored in that brilliant mind of his.

But it had been weeks, over a month and a half since Jack had disappeared, and Ianto had slowly but surely been feeling his absence more and more. Especially last week, when the rift had returned one of its victims, and for the first time, Ianto had needed to deal with the traumatised woman on his own. He didn’t want to think it, but he’d started wondering if maybe Jack wouldn’t ever come back after all. If maybe once Jack had gotten some time and distance, he’d realised that Cardiff in the 21st century was the last place he wanted to be.

The thought left a dull ache in his chest and he rubbed his sternum. The sensation had started about a week after Jack had gone, but he’d only gotten it when he spent too long thinking abut Jack, missing him and waking up in the morning, hoping Jack would return that day. But then he’d started getting it whenever he had to go into Jack’s office. And then he started getting it whenever he came across anywhere in the hub they’d had a particularly memorable shag. Now, he pretty much got it any time he thought about Jack, the pain and intensity of it increasing in severity, like a panic attack just waiting to take him down when he least expected it.

He was getting by, holding onto the dwindling hope that Jack would turn up any day now. Except that hope was swiftly being eclipsed by the persistent question of why Jack would ever want to come back here to Cardiff and Torchwood after everything that had happened. The team had betrayed him and released Abaddon right before The Doctor had turned up. At the time, he’d felt remorseful about it almost as soon as the password for the rift manipulator had left his lips. Now, the guilt was a steadily widening black hole in his soul. Especially considering Ianto had betrayed him once before—no twice, if he counted letting the Saviour send Jack through the rift. And if he put himself aside, there was also the way the team had treated him for weeks after the incident with Jasmine and the fairies, the debacle with Suzie, Tosh with Mary, Owen and the weevil fight cage— They’d all treated Jack like shit. Why would he ever want to come back to that?

The pain in his chest intensified and he tugged his tie free, carelessly dropping it to the floor at his feet. Dizziness assaulted him, so he gingerly laid himself down, forcing himself to keep his thoughts carefully blank, breathing deeply and calmly before he passed out while there was no one around to help him.

Gradually, he calmed, but started falling into a doze. He was so passed caring, he let himself fall asleep. Maybe if he woke up in a few hours, he could go home for a shower and fresh clothes before coming back again to start the day’s coffee.

Except then the dreams started. Not nightmares, not really. But they were far from pleasant. First, he dreamed about Lisa. She was fine, but he couldn’t find her and he knew deep down it was because she didn’t want him to find her. And when he finally did, it was only to watch her walk away, knowing she wasn’t ever coming back. Then he was in Jack’s office, but this was a dream mixed with a memory. He was clutching Jack’s coat, trying to keep himself from completely falling apart. Jack walked in, not angry, not yelling, simply silent and cold. He took the coat and then told Ianto to leave.

Ianto did break down then, because he needed Jack; needed Jack to soothe him, to tell him everything would be okay, except Jack only wanted him to go. To leave and never return. He started crying, practically begging Jack to let him stay. He didn’t know what would happen to him once he left, but he knew it wouldn’t be anything good. He would be lost and alone. But Jack wasn’t swayed, he didn’t care. A hand clamped on his shoulder, Jack forcing him to leave, while Ianto reached out, calling his name, his heart shattering at the expression of icy contempt in Jack’s gaze.

The hand started shaking him, and he realised he could hear someone else calling his name. He came out of the dream, recognising Tosh’s voice. Blinking his eyes open, he blearily stared up at her, then wiped a hand over his wet face.

Tosh was crouched next to the sofa, staring at him with deep concern etched into her features. Gwen stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed, features unreadable.

“Tosh, is something wrong? What are you doing back here?” He used his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face as he sat up. No point trying to hide them now.

“It’s morning,” Tosh said gently. “Gwen and I were going to let you sleep for a while longer, but then you started having a bad dream—”

“You were calling out for Jack, sweetheart,” Gwen took up when Tosh broke off. “And you sounded—”

The two women shared a knowing glance. _Heartbroken_ , he heard them silently saying. It was how he felt. Which was ridiculous. He and Jack hadn’t even really been together. He had no right to feel so completely abandoned. 

“Sorry, I should have gone home last night instead of flaking out on the sofa.” He started to shift forward on the cushions, planning to escape to the coffee machine or showers or somewhere that wasn’t here since Tosh and Gwen had just seen him bawling in his sleep and calling out for Jack in a way that had to be utterly pathetic. But Tosh stopped him with a gentle hand and then Gwen came over to sit next to him, wrapping both her arms around one of his.

He glanced around, relieved Owen apparently hadn’t been here to witness this.

“Ianto, you would tell us if you weren’t alright, wouldn’t you?” Tosh asked from where she’d shifted to perch on the edge of the coffee table, facing him.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly. Too quickly from the way Gwen and Tosh stared at him sceptically.

“I’m not any worse off than any of you. It was a long few days. I just need a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”

“And Jack?” Gwen asked stubbornly.

“What about him?” he returned through a tight jaw.

“You miss him,” Tosh stated without any sympathy, but just the right amount of understanding.

“We all miss him. It’s been bloody impossible around here without him the last few weeks. But we’ve managed. Not that we had much of a choice.” He surprised even himself at the hint of bitterness in his words.

“But you miss him more, for different reasons,” Tosh patted his knee, and that simple gesture made the damn tears well up again.

He dropped his head to stare at the floor, trying to keep his emotions contained, but they were so close to the surface after those dreams.

“I just—What if he doesn’t come back because of what I did—what we did to him?” The words came out low and uneven, unsure if voicing these thoughts aloud was the best thing for any of them.

“What do you mean?” Tosh asked, sounding taken aback.

“We betrayed him, Tosh. All of us, so many times in so many different ways. Opening the rift. Me with Lisa.” He took a breath and looked up to see them both absorbing this thought, as though it hadn’t occurred to them before. “He forgave us, every time, no matter what. But did we take advantage of that? Did we take advantage of him? What if he’s better off wherever he is now, and it took getting away from here before he realised it?”

“No,” Gwen said. “I can’t believe that. He cares about us and he’s a good man. If he hasn’t come back before now, it’s because he can’t. He’s off doing something important. He’ll be back, I know he will.”

Ianto gave a small sigh. Of course Gwen still saw Jack as the hero. Not his flaws, not his fears, not his insecurities that he hid behind those wide smiles of his. She saw what Jack wanted her to see.

Tosh sent him a small, encouraging smile. “I wish I had the answers, Ianto. I’ve tried everything I can think of to track him, but wherever he is, he obviously doesn’t want to be found. Whatever his reason, we just have to trust he knows what he’s doing and that everything will turn out eventually. Whether he comes back or not.”

It wasn’t about whether Jack wanted to be found or not, because the fact was, Jack probably wasn’t even on the planet, let alone their galaxy, or even their time. He was gone, somewhere none of them would ever be able to find or follow.

“You’re right.” He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, forcing the pain and guilt down. He’d spent enough time feeling like that after Lisa and he was terrified of spiralling again. This time he had to be stronger. This time he would be stronger. “If its morning, then I guess that means it’s time for coffee.”

Gwen sent him a kindly look. “Ianto, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look proper rough. Why don’t you go home and shower first? Maybe catch a few more hours sleep?”

He levelled a disbelieving frown on her. “You want me to go home. Without making coffee first?”

She shared a look with Tosh, before a grin slipped over her face. “Well, maybe you could make us a quick cup.”

“That sounds more sensible.” He inclined his head and pushed to his feet, Gwen and Tosh doing the same.

“Before you do, though,” Gwen said, hand on his arm. “I told you last time we talked, but I don’t think you really believed me. I will listen if you need it. Tosh as well. With Jack gone, it’s more important than ever we pull together.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to argue with Owen today about the best way to handle whatever comes up?” He arched an eyebrow at her. There hadn’t been an outright confrontation about leadership, but there also hadn’t been a single day where Gwen and Owen hadn’t argued about something. One day they’d even spent twenty minutes yelling at each other about the right and wrong way to load paper into the printer until Ianto had gone over and told them their printing rights had been revoked and then served them instant coffee in the middle of the afternoon, forcing them to apologise to each other, then him and Tosh.

Her grin widened, as if part of her had actually been enjoying the constant head-butting with Owen. “Since Owen clearly likes being a prat, I can’t promise anything.”

“Then I guess I’ll be keeping the instant on hand yet again.”

She took a swipe at him, but he dodged her as he headed for the coffee machine, Tosh laughing at them. He settled into the familiar routine of making the coffee. Yes, he was hurting and feeling guilty. But Tosh had been right. Everything would turn out eventually. One way or another.


	4. Anger

It couldn’t have possibly happened at a worse moment. The Argument. The one Gwen and Owen had been building up to for the last two months, but steadfastly ignoring by the same token. Ianto had wanted to make sure he wasn’t anywhere near them when it happened, but of course he was. Well, him and a very large, pissed off weevil.

He limped through the cog wheel door, muttering every swear word he could think of, in Welsh and English just for good measure.

“Ianto, luv, I’m so sorry,” Gwen was saying as she trailed after him.

He cast her one of his patently withering stares and she finally left off. Or maybe twelve apologies was her limit and she was at last giving up on saying sorry.

Tosh stared at them silently from behind her workstation where she’d been coordinating, clearly smart enough not to offer any words at all -- not to Ianto about his leg nearly getting twisted off or the epic argument between Gwen and Owen over exactly who was in charge while Jack was gone. What neither of them realised was that he was the one in charge, because this bloody place would fall in a heap if he left for more than two days. Deciding mission tactics and giving orders meant bollocks against the hundred small things he did everyday to keep things running.

Gwen crossed her arms, glaring at Owen. “When Jack comes back—”

“ _If_ Jack comes back!” He whirled to face them on the stairs. “It could be bloody decades from now. We need to find a way to work as a team. _Properly_. Stop thinking like this is temporary, because for all we know, it’s not.”

“He’s coming back,” Gwen shot back, every line of her body set in her usual stubbornness. “He wouldn’t just abandon us without a word.”  

“But that’s exactly what he did!” He threw his arms out in exasperation that Gwen still refused to see the reality of their situation. “Maybe he had to leave on short notice, but why not contact us since then? A phone call. A message. An email. A letter in the mail. A sodding carrier pigeon. _Anything_. What does that tell you, Gwen?”

He hadn’t wanted to doubt Jack, but it was getting harder each day, especially when Gwen and Owen got so caught up in their own drama that he ended up on the wrong side of a weevil. Not that there was any right side to a weevil.

He headed for Jack’s office, leaving the three of them staring after him.

“Ianto, mate, I really should take a look at that knee of yours,” Owen called after him as he limped through the door and didn’t allow himself the luxury of looking at anything. If he did, it would just remind him of how very much _not here_ Jack was, which would only make his current foul mood that much worse.

He yanked open the bottom draw of Jack’s desk and pulled out the very expensive bottle of scotch stashed there. He and Jack had shared a glass or two after a particularly long day a few times, but he knew it was Jack’s favourite, which was why he only got it out after the extra hard days. There were other bottles of scotch around the hub for run-of-the-mill shit days.

Except Jack had been gone two months. He was sick of covering Jack’s arse with UNIT and Whitehall and in a million other small ways. He was sick of pretending like everything was fine. He was sick of going to bed alone. He was sick of waking up even more alone. He was sick of only having his hand for company and missed those bloody pheromones like he was having actual withdrawals. And he was damned sick of Gwen and Owen bickering like ten-year-olds, especially when it ended with him face down in a filthy alleyway, which had definitely ruined one of his favourite suits.

He walked back out to the main part of the hub and stalked over to throw himself down on the couch.

“Your knee?” Owen pressed, coming over and crossing his arms, actually looking somewhat unusually reluctant.

“You know what’s good for my knee? Scotch. Lots and lots of scotch.” To demonstrate, he twisted the lid off and drank it straight from the bottle.

Owen scowled at him and stepped closer. “Give over.”

The doctor took the bottle from him and helped himself to a long swallow.

“Shit, that’s good. Where was Jack hiding this?”

“Bottom draw, left side of the desk.” Ianto took the bottle back and had another drink as Tosh and Gwen came over, Gwen carrying a couple of glasses.

“Pass it here then,” Gwen said, eyeing Owen as she took it and filled the four glasses with an arguably irresponsible amount of the very expensive drink. The bottle was now half empty. But hell, if Jack didn’t want his favourite expensive scotch drunk, then he shouldn’t have left them alone for two months.  

“I really am sorry, Ianto,” Gwen told him, catching his eye as she passed him a glass.

“Yeah, me too, mate,” Owen added with a typical note of awkwardness since _sorry_ didn’t usually feature in his vocabulary.

“It’s fine. My leg is still attached, after all, so I guess that’s something.”

They all stared at him for a long moment before collapsing into laughter. Maybe the scotch was settling in fast because he hadn’t eaten anything since—shit, probably those pastries at breakfast. But his anger at them quickly dissipated. His anger towards other certain people, however, seemed to be on a constant simmer at the moment.

“You should have seen your face after,” Gwen gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ianto, but I have never, _ever_ seen you so angry. I really thought you were going explode.”

“Yeah, it was something,” Owen agreed. “Clearly you need a good shag to work out all that stress.”

Tosh and Gwen turned to look at Owen in disbelief, clearly unable to believe he’d said it.

“What?” Owen demanded, not sounding repentant in the least. “As a doctor, I can tell you with absolute confidence that fucking out your anger is perfectly healthy.”

“Well,” Ianto said slowly into the tense silence. “Since Jack isn’t here, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to shag away my anger. Pity, he was always good for an angry shag.”

Now it was Owen’s turn to look disbelieving while the girls gave a scandalised laughed. Usually the last thing he would ever want to do was discuss his sex life with the team. But if Jack never came back, what did it matter? Plus the scotch was going to his head fast, and he was too pissed off at the world to care tonight.

“I bet he was good for _any_ kind of shag,” Gwen nudged him with her leg.

“Gwen!” Tosh exclaimed, a hint of colour on her cheeks, but Ianto could tell from the gleam in her gaze that she was probably hoping for details as much as Gwen clearly was.

He took another large mouthful of scotch. “God yes. What that man can do with his tongue—”

“Fuck me, I haven’t had enough scotch to hear this yet.” Owen tipped his head back and downed half his glass. “Actually, there probably isn’t enough alcohol in the world I could drink to _ever_ want to hear this.”

Despite the words, Owen didn’t make a move to leave.

“Go on, then,” Gwen urged, topping up all their glasses. “He’s always boasting. Is he as good as he says he is?”

“Unfortunately,” Ianto dragged out the word, like he was going to disagree and Gwen deflated a little. “He’s even better than he says he is, the bastard.”

Gwen and Tosh laughed again, Gwen squealing a little between giggles.

“It’s not all mind-blowing orgasms though,” he told them, his head definitely feeling lighter now. “His manners in bed are atrocious.”

“You really expected anything different?” Owen surprisingly put in. “We’re talking about a man who can leave crumbs from his desk all the way to the vaults in a single pastry.”

That left them all laughing again and sloppily toasting Jack’s unbelievably messy eating habits.

“I just can’t believe you managed to keep it from us,” Tosh said once they all settled down again.

“Yes, Ianto, how long have you been shagging the boss for?” Gwen asked, seeming on the tipsy side now.

He didn’t need to think back, even with the scotch pleasantly clouding his thoughts. “It was that case where people were disappearing in and around Radyr, not long before the mess with Suzie.”

“So, what?” Tosh prompted. “Did he finally make a move? It was always obvious from the first day you started here that he had a thing for you and your suits.”

He leaned unsteadily forward with a sly grin. “No. I kissed him.”

“You didn’t!” Tosh was clearly impressed.

“Wouldn’t have guessed you had it in you, teaboy.” Owen saluted him with his almost empty drink and then sloshed some more into the glass. “Seems you’re full or surprises.”

“Jack certainly seemed to think so,” he couldn’t help shooting back.

That had the girls laughing again and Owen muttering that he didn’t want to know.

Ianto picked up the bottle and poured the last of Jack’s very fine scotch into his glass, except for some reason it made the anger return. Because now he was pissed off that they’d drunk it all and if Jack did come back, he’d either have to explain or replace it.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he glanced up to see the other three looking at him, Gwen gently rubbing circles on his shoulder. 

“We’re all angry at him, Ianto,” Gwen said gently. “You were right. He left us without a word. We had no warning and no preparation. It wasn’t fair for him to do this to us.”

He swallowed, words crowding his throat, the urge to tell them that he knew where Jack had gone and with whom. Except something kept him silent, and he nodded instead.

“So, screw Jack Harkness!” she announced, holding her glass up. “We’re fine without him. And if he never comes back, then that’s his loss.”

They all clinked their glasses together, and while the others seem to embrace Gwen’s attitude enthusiastically, he couldn’t escape the pit that had settled into his stomach.

He was angry, yes. But beneath that anger was something much more potent. Something far more consuming and terrifying. So he was going to hold onto the anger for all he was worth, because it was the only way he knew to stay strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this conversation was my way of filling in how Gwen knew about Jack atrocious manners in bed, which she blurted out during the episode Sleeper. And Ianto wasn't one bit surprised, but instead jumped in with. "Oh, they are--" So I figured Ianto had to be the one to tell her at some stage!


	5. Depression, Reflection, Loneliness

Done in by a common cold. Was there anything more miserable and humiliating?

Ianto curled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, shivering even though he had the heating in his flat turned up somewhere around summer-heat-wave levels. He was blaming Torchwood for this, even if the virus wasn’t of alien origin. He had to have caught it a few days back when he’d ended up in the A&E.

Some kind of furry, aggressive alien had dropped out of the rift right into the middle of a TK Maxx store during a busy Saturday afternoon. It’d been dead by the time they’d arrived there; after a short but vicious rampage through the store, it’d run out into the street and been promptly run over by the 1:45 to Swansea. Needless to say, the service had not run on time that day.

While Gwen and Tosh had stayed at the scene to help with the cover up there, he and Owen had gone with the injured to the hospital. Only one bloke had been bitten and scratched by the creature—which curiously looked like a cross between a dog and a pig, just with way more teeth and claws—so Owen had followed him into a treatment bay to make sure he didn’t contract any alien infection from the wounds. Meanwhile, Ianto had been left in the waiting room dealing with the people who’d been secondarily injured in the confusion and small stampede of shoppers trying to escape.

He’d taken witness statements and doled out retcon, all the while trying to ignore the fact that the rest of the A&E waiting room had been filled with people coughing and sneezing with some kind of flu. He’d just known he was going to get sick, and sure enough, he’d woken up with a sore throat and stuffy nose yesterday.

It hadn’t been until this morning, however, that it had really set in. Despite feeling like death warmed over, he’d dragged himself into work. Owen had taken one look at him and chased him right back out the door with a lecture about infecting the rest of them and ending up with a chest infection or pneumonia if he didn’t stay home in bed until he got better. 

The problem was, sitting at home gave him too much time to think about all the things he’d been avoiding by burying himself in work. And one thing he couldn’t keep buried was the last time he’d gotten sick, a few months ago. It’d been a Friday evening, and he’d ended up with a nasty bout of food poisoning that had to have been the Chinese takeaway they’d eaten for lunch the day before—he’d been the only one to touch the chicken.

He and Jack had just settled down to watch a movie when the nausea had hit him out of nowhere. At first, it’d been utterly mortifying. He’d ordered Jack to go back to the hub and leave him alone, but of course Jack hadn’t listened. He had left for a little while, but only to go out and buy him ginger tea.

Jack had surprisingly taken extremely good care of him, never batted an eyelid or had a single moment of seeming grossed out. It had been a long, horrible night, but once the symptoms had subsided just before dawn, he’d had to admit that having Jack to curl up against in bed had made it all so much better. Jack had spent the whole weekend with him, pampering him when he’d woken up late Saturday afternoon, then staying until Monday morning, even though by the middle of Sunday he’d been fine.

Now, sitting alone and miserable in his flat, he was feeling Jack’s absence even more acutely than he had any other day since he’d left. Two months, two weeks and three days. He’d been trying not to keep count, but apparently his subconscious wasn’t on board with that idea, because without any effort at all, he could call up exactly how long it’d been since Jack had disappeared with The Doctor. If he really put some effort in, he could probably work it out down to the hour, and if that wasn’t completely pathetic and depressing, he didn’t know what was.

A knock sounded at the door and he looked up, limbs vaguely aching. He thought about not answering, but then he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Still clutching the blanket, he dragged himself to his feet and went to open the door for Gwen.

As soon as she saw him, pity flitted over her features. “Oh Ianto, you look horrible sweetheart!”

“As do you,” he returned dryly, returning to the couch without waiting for her.

“I brought you chicken soup. Should still be hot.” She came over and set the Tupperwear on his coffee table before disappearing into the kitchen, presumably to find him a spoon.

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked as she returned and handed the utensil over, along with a napkin. She then took the lid off the container and pressed it into his hands like he was a child.

“If I say yes, do you think Owen will let me come back to work?” He ruined the words by coughing for a long moment before he could draw a breath.

Gwen frowned and pressed a hand against his forehead. “Owen was right, you need to rest. You’re burning up.”

“Funny, because it feels like there’s ice water in my veins.” At the reminder, he shivered again, the blanket not doing much when it felt like the chill was coming from within him.

“Have some soup, it’ll make you feel better,” she urged, tucking the blanket a little more securely around him. Suddenly, he was deeply grateful she was there. She wasn’t Jack, but he wasn’t alone. And he knew Gwen cared about him in her own way.

“So you drew the short straw, huh?” he asked to cover up the abrupt surge of emotions as he sipped at the soup, finding it surprisingly tasty. He wondered who’d made it.

“What do you mean?” She sent him a questioning look as she settled back against the couch cushions and picked up the remote to turn on the TV, as if she planned on staying for a while.

“Since you all looked at me like I was carrying the plague this morning, I assume you drew the short straw to come check on me and bring me soup. Which is delicious, by the way.”

“Is it?” She wrinkled her nose and then leaned over to sniff it. “Owen made it, so I wasn’t sure.”

 _Owen_? Well, he wouldn’t have ever guessed that.

“Anyway, no, we didn’t draw straws. Tosh wanted to come, but she had some weird rift readings she needed to monitor and Owen had decided to do a second autopsy on Ralph, something about its heart function that he’d missed the first time.”

Ralph being the name they’d given the furry pig-dog that’d terrorised the TK Maxx store.

“And I was worried anyway. You really didn’t look well this morning. Plus, Rhys is doing some fantasy football thing with Banana Boat and a few of the other guys tonight, so I don’t have any better prospects.”

She’d stopped flicking channels on EastEnders and he levelled an unimpressed look on her.

“No.”

She huffed and changed a few more channels until she landed on a Neighbours re-run. She sent him a questioning look and he shrugged.

“Marginally better if you insist on watching trashy TV.” Besides, the Australian accents were always entertaining.

“Isn’t watching trashy TV what you’re meant to do when you’re sick?”

“Pretty sure it has the potential to make a person sicker.” Except his attention was drawn to the screen as two of the characters got into an argument about someone cheating on someone else.

“Oh, I remember this one!” Gwen exclaimed. “This was a good story line.”

He settled next to her, finishing his soup and actually feeling a little better. He wouldn’t have ever thought he’d be happy having Gwen for company when he was sick, but she was turning out to be good company. Owen would have been brusque and typically snarky, while Tosh would have fussed over him. Gwen was the perfect medium.

Meanwhile, they got sucked into what turned out to be a Neighbours marathon. Gwen ordered pizza and helped herself to a bottle of his wine. He took some more of the drugs Owen had given him, then made the rather ill-advised decision to mix it with a glass of the wine, but it only made Neighbours that much more entertaining.

Gwen drank most of the wine by herself and by nine-thirty, it was clear she wouldn’t be going anywhere. When she fell asleep against his shoulder, he watched the last episode of Neighbours and then gently laid her down on the couch. After, he fetched a second blanket to drape over her, then went and had a shower before he put himself to bed, feeling markedly improved.

He woke up a little later than usual the next morning—but probably still early by anyone else’s standards. Maybe Owen’s chicken soup had a little extra special alien ingredient, because he felt a million times better than he had the day before. He took another shower and then went out to cook some breakfast. Gwen was still asleep on his couch, but eventually the smell of coffee and bacon cooking roused her.

She padded into the kitchen, blinking against the weak light coming in through the kitchen window. He smiled as he handed over a coffee.

“Oh God, you’re brilliant,” she murmured as she eagerly took the coffee.

“How’s the head?” he asked in a low voice with a hint of amusement as he turned back to the stove.

“Like a cracked melon. How’s yours?”

“Quite well, actually.”

She sent him a baleful look as she sat herself at his kitchen table and he started serving up the food. “Lucky you.”

“It’s possible Owen may have slipped a little something extra into that soup of his.”

She groaned and rubbed her temples. “If I’d known that, I would have insisted on sharing.”

“Here, this’ll help.” He set a plate in front of her, then fetched some knives and forks.

Having breakfast with Gwen after she’d spent the night at his flat should have been weird, but he found it wasn’t awkward in the least. Except…

“Won’t Rhys be worried that you didn’t come home last night?”

She waved her fork dismissively. “He’s probably still passed out. He’ll just assume I pulled an all-nighter at the hub, or I came and went while he was out of it.”

He nodded, pushing some bacon around his plate for a moment, considering his next words.

“Thank you, Gwen, for coming by and staying, even though I’m sure you didn’t plan to spend the night.”

She sent him a genuinely affectionate smile. “Of course, Ianto. No one wants to be alone when they’re sick.”

He nodded and ducked his head, remembering how miserable he’d felt, sitting on his couch missing Jack so much his entire body had ached, before she’d turned up and distracted him from the depressing thoughts.

“I’m sure he would have been here, if he could have,” she said, as though she’d read his thoughts.

He looked up at her, and now he could see the sadness in her eyes. Though he knew he wasn’t the only one missing Jack, none of the rest of the team had let on that they might be feeling it so keenly. He supposed out of all of them, it shouldn’t have been surprising that Gwen missed him almost as much as he did himself.

“Do you think he’s happy, wherever he is?” He blurted out the words before he really gave himself a chance to think about them.

“I don’t know. I hope so,” Gwen replied quietly.

“That’s all I want, you know.” He took a breath, not sure why he was admitting this and knowing it probably sounded ridiculous and soppy. “I miss him, and some days are worse than others. But it would be okay if I knew he was happy.”

Gwen reached across the table and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I know exactly what you mean.”

They stared at each other, and something seemed to pass between them, some kind of understanding, leaving Ianto feeling closer to her. Gwen shifted forward and pressed a kiss into his cheek, lingering for just a moment to make it almost intimate, but not quite. He titled his head into it, accepting the comfort for what it was, returning the sentiment. She could be stubborn and frustrating and a million other things that set his teeth on edge some days. But it was moments like this when he could understand why Jack was so enamoured of her. 

When she sat back, her eyes were damp, but she was smiling at him.

“Well, we better eat and get into work. We’re cutting it close as it is.” She dug into the eggs on her plate, making an appreciative noise over the first mouthful.

“You think Owen will actually let me stay today?” he returned as he tackled his own breakfast.

“You seem well enough to me. And we’re already a man down. We can’t afford to have you laying around on your couch watching Neighbours marathons all day.”

He thumped a hand on the table. “Damn it, I’m not going to find out what happened to Toadie and Dee.”

“I knew you were tragic for a good bit of trashy TV.”

They both laughed and quickly finished up their breakfast. Ianto drove Gwen in her car to the hub since they weren’t sure whether she was sober enough to drive. When they walked through the cog wheel door together, they were still laughing about something they’d seen on Neighbours the evening before and Gwen’s tipsy response to it.

Tosh and Owen paused to look at them in surprise, which left Gwen laughing harder and Ianto clearing his throat and striving for a somewhat professional manner.

“Oi, Cooper. Aren’t those the clothes you were wearing yesterday?” Owen asked as he came forward.

Gwen shot Ianto a guiltily amused look, while he tried not to smirk.

“She stayed over at mine last night,” Ianto managed to get out in a perfectly even voice.

Tosh gaped while Owen looked shocked and then pissed off.

“What can I say?” Gwen replied airily. “I was curious. He had to be a good shag if he got Jack Harkness into bed.”

Tosh shook her head in dismay, while Owen turned and stomped toward the autopsy bay, muttering something about workplace incest.

Gwen kissed him on the cheek one more time and told him she was heading for a shower and change of clothes.

When she was gone, Tosh levelled an admonishing look on him. “Ianto, you didn’t really—”

“Of course not,” he quickly assured her. “I would never. Gwen is more like a sister—an annoying, frustrating sister whom I care about—but even if it weren’t for Rhys, I still wouldn’t, not when…”

He trailed off since he wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

“Not when you’ve only got eyes for one man,” Tosh finished for him with a lovely smile.

“Quite so,” he replied quietly, the ache in his chest returning.

But this time it wasn’t as sharp.


	6. The Upward Turn

It was glowing. It was a rat and it was glowing bright purple. A glowing purple rat the size of a small dog. And if he wasn’t mistaken, it happened to be looking at him like maybe it was debating which bit of him to start eating first.

Ianto edged sideways, slowly reaching for the broom leaning against the nearby cupboard. He’d been doing a bit of cleaning earlier when Tosh had called him on the comm about some piece of tech she needed that had been found within the first few weeks of her starting at Torchwood. Of course it hadn’t been where it should have been—until he’d taken over the archives, previous members of Torchwood seemed to have a rather slap-dash attitude toward filing… and that was putting it politely. There seemed to be an ingrained Torchwood Three legacy of treating the archives as a dumping ground instead of the valuable store of alien tech and artefacts it actually was.

“Ianto, any luck?”

He jumped at Tosh’s voice in his ear and quickly touched the button on the device to reply.

“Depends on what you define as luck,” he murmured in a low, calm voice, not wanting to startle the creature crouched a few steps away, perched on top of a containment box, almost as if it was protecting whatever was inside.

“What’s wrong?” Tosh replied with concern, obviously having picked up on the tension in his voice.

“I didn’t find what you were looking for, but I did find a huge glowing purple rat.”

There was absolute silence on the other end on the comm and he tapped the button again, thinking he’d gotten cut off.

“Tosh?”

“Are you— you’re joking, right?” She sounded like she had no idea whether or not to believe him.

“Take a look at CCTV down here and tell me yourself.” He slowly wrapped his hand around the handle of the broom and drew it in front of himself. Now that he had a makeshift weapon, he backed up a step, but just as he guessed the rat reared up, looking like it was getting ready to attack.

“Oh my God!” Tosh exclaimed into his ear. She called Owen and Gwen over, then a second later he had all three of them on comms with him, exclaiming over the creature and probably glad they weren’t the ones down here facing off with it. And of course his gun was up in his desk, because he’d never had a reason to carry in the hub before. After today, he’d be rethinking that notion.

He backed up another step and the rat leapt off the containment box it’d been sitting on to land a few feet away from him. His heart had started racing as he pointed the broom in front of himself like a sword.

“Someone get down here with a gun before it attacks me,” he hissed into the comm, debating whether to risk another step back. “I am not going to die at the hands—claws—of a bloody glowing rodent. That is not going on my Torchwood death certificate.”

“Ianto, protocol—”

He closed his eyes as Tosh broke off.

“Protocol is to lock down the level,” he finished for her. He knew those protocols inside and out.

“We’re not leaving him down there with that thing!” Gwen exclaimed. “Ianto, I’m coming down with that gun right now.”

He shook his head, even though they couldn’t see him. No, wait, they could. Tosh had him up on CCTV.

“You can’t, Gwen. We can’t risk it getting up into the main part of the hub. Or worse, escaping altogether. I don’t want to spend the next week chasing reports of a purple rat all over the city.” He took a calming breath, watching the creature as it stared at him in return. “I’m going to make a run for it. Start lockdown procedures. Tosh, track it on CCTV if you can. If it looks like it’s going to get out of this section, then don’t worry about me, just do what you have to.”

“Don’t worry, Ianto, we’ve got this,” Owen answered, he imagined because both Tosh and Gwen were upset at the idea of him getting locked into the archives with a huge glowing rat that looked like it wanted to eat him.

“Okay, here goes,” he muttered to himself, trying to bolster his confidence at the last second, even though he was pretty much terrified that he was about to become intimately acquainted with the sensation of getting gnawed on.

He made a sudden movement, and just like he’d suspected, the rat launched an attack. But he was ready, and as soon as it was close enough, he swung the broom like a cricket bat and knocked it into the nearby wall. Not waiting to see whether he’d slowed it down or pissed it off, he launched into a run. Above him, red lights were flashing and an alarm started chiming as the lockdown started.

“Ianto,” Tosh’s voice sounded in his ear, but he was only half listening as he concentrated on sprinting toward the blast door that was sliding closed in the hallway ahead of him. “Ianto, it’s right behind you!”

“Not helping right now, Tosh!” he yelled back at her, fear giving him an extra spurt of speed. He didn’t dare look back, not wanting to know exactly how close he was to being rat chow. He reached the blast door and had to turn at the last second and squeeze himself through the shortening gap, nearly losing his left arm when he didn’t get through fast enough. The rat really had been right behind him, because as he tumbled to the floor in the outer corridor, it leapt into the slim gap. Fortunately, the rat apparently wasn’t any smarter for all the size and glowing, because the blast door snapped closed, squashing the rat in the process and splattering chunks of purple glowing gunk everywhere.

“Oh shit.” He blew out a long breath and collapsed back on the cold concrete floor in relief, catching his breath and thanking every lucky star he had that he’d escaped what would have been one of Torchwood’s more ridiculous deaths.

“Ianto?” Gwen’s voice echoed down the corridor and a second later, footsteps clattered as she, Tosh and Owen appeared.

Gwen leaned over to look down on him. “Ianto, are you okay?”

“May need a clean pair of pants, but I guess I can now add _survived mutant rat_ to my CV.”

“Pissed yourself, did you?” Owen grinned.

He levelled an extremely unimpressed glare on the doctor, which had to be a feat in itself considering her was still laying on the floor.

“No, I meant from the splatter radius when the blast door popped the bastard like a grape.” He pointed to the purple blobs of he-didn’t-want-to-know-what on the leg of his trousers.

Owen leaned in closer. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you did piss yourself. Pretty sure I would have. I fucking hate rats.”

As Owen had been speaking, something caught his eye in the cables looped along the top of the ceiling. Something furry. Something purple. Something that was definitely glowing.

“Then would now be a bad time to tell you that there’s one right above your head?”

Owen straightened and crossed his arms, features shifting into a glower. “Now you’re just taking the mickey. Very funny.”

“No,” he sat up and scrambled back, then quickly got to his feet. “Not funny at all. Please tell me one of you brought a gun.”

The others followed his gaze, easily finding the rat where it was perched among the cables. This one wasn’t as big, but it definitely still looked hungry. Owen swore and darted behind Gwen, unashamedly using her as a human shield.

“Leave off, Owen!” she yelled, pulling away from him.

“I’m so out of here.” Owen had started making a surprisingly fast retreat before any of them could reply.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him run so fast,” Tosh commented as they spent a second watching him disappear.

“Not even when we rescued those swimsuit models off the yacht in the bay that’d been caught in a minor temporal shift,” he agreed, momentarily distracted.

The rat chose that moment to drop to the floor a few metres away from them, giving them all a start.

“I think its time we took a leaf out of Owen’s book,” he said, already edging backwards. A second glowing rat dropped down next to the other one, and for the first time, he realised they might be in serious trouble. “Run!”

The three of them took off, not waiting to see if the rats followed.

“What took you so long?” Owen demanded when they arrived back in the main part of the hub and had slammed the door to the archives behind themselves.

“Are we locked down?” he asked as he hurried over to Tosh’s workstation.

“No glowing purple rodents will be getting out of here,” Tosh confirmed.

“And neither will we,” Owen griped, crossing his arms and shooting a furtive glance at the door to the archives.

“Aw, what’s a matter, Owen?” Gwen taunted. “Afraid of a few furry creatures that aren’t even a quarter of your size?”

“Creatures that carried the bubonic plague? That will swarm and eat a person alive given the right circumstances? Yes, actually, I’m fucking petrified,” Owen shot back angrily in a rare moment of sincerity.

Gwen looked taken aback, clearly never having considered rats in that light before.

“Bloody hell,” she mumbled, looking a bit pale now.

“Let’s focus, shall we?” he said, gaining their attention. “We need to work out if the three we saw are it or—”

“If we have an infestation,” Tosh finished for him in a grim voice.

“And while we’re at it, we should probably work out why the hell they’re purple and glowing,” Owen put in.

“Must have got into something down in the archives,” he replied, since it was the most likely explanation. “A piece of tech or some kind of substance they ate. Could be anything, really.”

“Great. We’ll start a list. You love a good list, teaboy.”

Ianto resisted an eye-roll or any sarcastic comeback. Until they got themselves out of this, Owen would no doubt be snarkier than usual since he apparently hated rats so much.

“I’ll check for heat signatures in the lower level,” Tosh offered, dropping into her seat.

“That won’t work,” he crossed his arms, trying to figure out how the hell they were going to solve this one. “There are normal mostly-harmless rats down there. Plus Janet and a few other weevils. We won’t be able to tell which are the mutants.”

“You’re right,” Tosh replied, sounding a little irritated at the conundrum.

“We could combe the CCTV footage,” Gwen suggested.

“It’d take too long,” Tosh returned with a shake of her head.

“And too many places they could hide,” he agreed.

“If we could lure them out somehow,” he muttered, mostly thinking out loud, but Tosh was looking steadily at him, like the same plan was forming in her mind.

“We let them come out and pick them off once they’re out in the open,” she said. “Kind of hard to miss something that’s glowing and purple.”

“Like some kind of shooting gallery?” Gwen’s voice held a note of disbelief.

“That is a terrible plan,” Owen announced. “And if I’m the one saying that, then it really must be.”

“If you’ve got a better idea, Owen, then I’m all ears,” he replied with no small amount of exasperation, but also kind of meaning it. If someone had a better idea, then he really would love to hear it.

No one said anything, however and he sighed. “Torchwood shooting gallery it is.”

“How are we going to do this, then?” Tosh asked.

“I don’t think luring them out will be too hard. They did look hungry, after all,” he said with a quick shrug.

“So we put out some food, take high ground and pick them off when they come out,” Gwen surmised for them all.

“Dibs on the invisible lift,” Owen said fast, leaving them all staring at him. “What? It’s the only place in the entire hub I can guarantee they won’t get me.”

This time Ianto did roll his eyes. “Let’s get this over with before Owen is the one in need of clean pants.”

“Ha ha,” Owen returned mockingly as he headed for the autopsy bay, presumably to retrieve his weapon. The rest of them armed themselves, then Ianto went to the fridge to load up on leftovers. He took them over and set them out in the most open place in the middle of the hub he could find. Honestly, this was an absolutely rubbish plan, but right now, he couldn’t think of anything better. If this didn’t work, then they’d come up with something else. For now, however, he was going to hope they were dealing with only two dumb, hungry, glowing rats who’d meet their demise as easily as their friend had.

When everyone was in position, Ianto ended up being the one who went over and pulled open the door to the archives. Almost immediately, the rats came scurrying out, but he already had a crate in place to step up on and quickly jump to grasp the rail on the level above him, pulling himself up a little awkwardly. Apparently working for Torchwood occasionally required the skills of a gymnast.

Six purple glowing rats of various size skittered across the hub, going straight for the laid-out food. As soon as they’d descended on it, Gwen gave the signal and they opened fire. Straight away, four of the rats dropped, while two took off in a panic. The second one went down as it headed for the cover of the workstations, but the last managed to disappear.

“Where did it go?” Owen yelled from where he was perched on the invisible lift that had been suspended a few metres off the floor.

“Be quiet, Owen!” Gwen shouted back in annoyance.

They listened for the skittering, but it was hard to pinpoint the source with the way noise echoed around the hub.

Time stretched on, the rat didn’t emerge, and none of them could work out where it had hidden itself.

“We can’t stay like this forever,” Tosh said, frustration clear in her voice. “And we can’t reverse the lockdown until we know they’re all dead.”

“It’ll come out eventually,” Gwen said stubbornly, sounding like she was all ready to wait out the rat, no matter how long it took.

Ianto was momentarily distracted when he heard a deep flapping coming from somewhere above him. He glanced up to see Myfawny circling lower than usual.

“Great, the sodding pterodactyl is going to eat the food we put out and this brilliant plan will be complete,” Owen snarked.

Ianto didn’t reply, since Myfawny didn’t seem interested in the food, instead drifting closer to him. Maybe the food had confused her and she thought it was feeding time. Truthfully, as she swooped down even lower on her next pass, she was starting to make him a little nervous.

“Shoo!” he told her, even though he knew it wasn’t going to work. “I don’t have any chocolate for you.”

“Told you feeding the bloody thing chocolate was going to come back to bite you in the arse,” Owen called out to him.

“She likes it! And she’s never caused us any problems before.” He tensed up, because she’d gotten lower and closer still, and now he was really starting to wonder what she was up to. Never mind the bloody mutant rats, he really didn’t want to be killed by his pet dinosaur.

Just as he started thinking he’d take his chance down on the hub floor with the rat, Myfawny suddenly twisted out of her circling pattern and came right at him. He threw himself down, hearing the others yelling but unable to do anything except duck. He felt the rush of air as Myfawny passed over him, the slightest brush of her leathery wings, then there was an ear-splitting screech before she shot straight up into the high reaches of the hub again. He looked up to see she had a claw-full of squirming, glowing, purple fur. The rat. She’d snatched up the rat. Apparently from right behind him.

He got to his feet and let out a whoop as the others laughed with relief.

“Saved by the pterodactyl!” he yelled, then joined in with the others, laughing away the tension. He bloody loved his job some days. It was too insane to even comprehend.

Owen came down on the lift, while the rest of them made their way over to the sofa. Ianto dropped onto the cushions in the middle, ending up with Gwen and Tosh either side of him. He slung his arms around both of them as Owen sat on the coffee table.

“And we survive yet another day at Torchwood,” Owen said, holding out a hand for Tosh to high five him.

“We still need to work out what turned them purple and made them glow,” Tosh said, sounding like she was already relishing the idea.

“Tomorrow, Tosh,” Owen replied. “Tonight, we’re all going to the pub and getting shit-faced.”

“Is that a medical term, then?” Gwen asked with a grin.

“Yes, a very complicated medical term you wouldn’t even begin to understand.” Owen sent her a smug smile.

“Well, best not keep waiting,” Ianto said. “Let’s reverse the lockdown and get out of here.”

They all jumped up again, taking a few minutes to switch the hub off the high security alert and gather their jackets. As Ianto turned the lights and power into night mode, he happened to glance up at Jack’s empty office. With a start, he realised that for the first time, he hadn’t thought _if only Jack was here_ , when dealing with the situation. In fact, he’d barely given Jack a thought all day, even though today was exactly three months since he’d disappeared. And while he still had that ache in his chest, it maybe wasn’t as sharp any longer. Even Owen and Gwen had stopped butting heads over every little thing. Maybe they were finally starting to find a new kind of normal.


	7. Reconstruction

The others were already seated around the conference table when Ianto walked in, juggling an impossibly high stack of folders and papers. He stepped over and let them fall onto the middle of the table with a slap, sending things sliding in all directions.

Tosh, Owen and Gwen were all regarding him warily.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked them, pulling his shirt sleeves straight as he stepped back.

“Looks like paperwork,” Owen offered, slouching back in his usual chair. Gwen had taken to sitting in Jack’s chair, and while it had annoyed Ianto at first, now he was mostly used to it.

“You’re right, Owen, it is paperwork. Do you know whose paperwork it is?”

None of them answered, but Gwen and Owen were looking distinctly uncomfortable. They all knew what this was. The line in the sand between Gwen and Owen. Both of them wanted to be in charge, but neither of them were willing to cross this unofficial territory on the battlefield.

“Technically, it’s Jack’s paperwork.” Owen crossed his arms with a stubborn glare.

Ianto braced both hands on the table and leaned forward. “Oh, I’m sorry, did Jack come back and everyone forgot to tell me?”

Owen just continued to glare at him while Gwen avoided his gaze. He reached over and picked up the first piece of paper he found. “Expense report from last month.” He flicked it and picked up another page. “Weekly report to Whitehall, two months old.” Another page flicked and another picked up. “Medical supplies required by Owen, six weeks old.” He flicked this one at Owen and grabbed another page. “Wages, three months old. You do realise none of us have been paid since Jack left?”

Sure, he could have given them the money, he had access to all the accounts and the pay sheets were done. But no one had signed off on any of this stuff, and he was a stickler. Until one of them decided once and for all who was in charge and put their signature on these forms, Torchwood was very close to a grinding halt.

“I had started wondering about that,” Gwen finally spoke up. “As much as I love it, I couldn’t afford to work here for free.”

He straightened, crossing his arms over his chest, regarding the pair of them. “I don’t mind doing all this paperwork, same as I did for Jack. But I can’t sign off on it. This had gone on long enough. We need to decide who’s in charge once and for all.”

“Should we take a vote?” Tosh asked into the heavy silence that followed.

“And if it ends up two against two, what then?” He was fairly sure that would be the result of a vote. He’d vote for Gwen, who’d also likely vote for herself. Then Owen would vote for himself and Tosh would be right there with him.

“Then how do we decide, toss a coin? That doesn’t seem right,” Tosh grumbled as if this whole thing was an inconvenience. Which it was. They should have figured this out weeks ago, but they’d all been trying to find their feet again and deal with missing Jack in their own ways.

“Tosh, you and I are going to leave this room so Owen and Gwen can have a conversation.” He pointed a finger at them. “Not an argument. A reasonable, rational conversation to work out which of you should take the responsibility.”

The pair of them glared at one another, before reluctantly agreeing. Tosh stood up and he held out his arm for her. She tucked her hand into his elbow and he led her from the room, firmly closing the door behind himself and resisting the urge to lock it.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Tosh asked as they headed back into the main part of the hub.

“No idea,” he replied cheerfully. “Are you hungry? We should go get some lunch.”

“Is that so we can avoid the shouting, or so they can’t pull us into their argument?”

He sent her a suave smile as if he had everything figured out. “Both.”

She laughed and went to fetch her jacket. They didn’t go far, just a nice little corner pub on the waterfront the team liked to frequent, where they were all but regulars to the staff.

They were half way through their meal when Owen and Gwen turned up, not a single glare or frown between them. Well, that had been resolved much faster than he’d expected. He arched an eyebrow at the pair as they joined him and Tosh at the table.

“Sorted, then?”

“Sorted,” Gwen confirmed with a smile. “Sorry it took so long—”

“To get your heads out of your arses?” he returned in a flat voice, making them laugh.

“Maybe not quite that,” Gwen replied after a moment. “But I know we didn’t make it easy on you and Tosh, what with all the fighting.”

He reached over and took her hand. “It’s fine, Gwen. I think we were all hit for six when Jack left like that. But we’ve muddled through. The world hasn’t ended and I dare say we’ve saved a few lives in the process. Everything else is all in the past now.”

“It really is,” she murmured in reply, and from the sadness in her eyes, he knew she wasn’t talking about her fights with Owen. “What if this is us now?”

“Then we’ll be fine,” Owen answered when no one else said anything. “In fact, we’ll be better than fine. We’ll be bloody brilliant.”

“Yes,” Tosh answered determinedly, holding up her glass like a toast. “We will be. We are.”

“Alright,” Gwen said with a tremulous smile. “Bloody brilliant it is, then.”

The others laughed, and Ianto gave a wan smile, but stayed silent. The rest of them had seemingly accepted the thought that Jack might never come back, and while he’d used the words himself in anger a few weeks ago, it’d been more to take some semblance of control over the situation that had felt like it was spiralling, rather than him actually believing it. Because no matter what happened, he couldn’t get Jack’s words out of his mind.

 _I can’t promise that I won’t have to leave again, but I’ll always come back to you, Ianto Jones_.

Those words haunted his dreams and crept up on him during the day when he let his guard down. When it came down to it, he fully believed Jack would turn up again one day somewhere. The problem was, he feared by the time that happened, he’d either be old and grey, or have succumb to the Torchwood tradition of dying before he turned thirty. Jack would return, but there was every chance that Ianto would never really get him back again.

He pushed the dour thoughts away, because they should be celebrating. They’d finally readjusted and found their footing as a team. Last week they’d even gone to the Himalayas on what had turned out to be some weird false report. Tosh had reported her scanners had picked up some kind of world-wide temporal shift, but they hadn’t been able to work out what it had been or what’d caused it, and it didn’t seem to have caused any lasting effects.

From now, going forward, things would be much more settled. A new kind of normal. Well, Torchwood normal, at any rate. And for the time being, that was all he could ask for.


	8. Hope and Acceptance

The bell above the door of the tourist office jingled and Ianto looked up from his computer, smiling at the familiar face.

“Seren, another week gone by already?” He stood and went to take the box of pamphlets from her arms.

“Yes, it’s Wednesday again,” she replied, returning his smile with a pretty one of her own. Seren had started over at the larger official tourist information office about a month before Jack had disappeared. Once upon a time, he used to go over and fetch the box of new pamphlets himself every week, sometimes stay for a cup of tea with the staff and exchange amusing stories about the tourists. But after Jack had disappeared, he’d lost the time to do it, trying to cover the fact that the team was operating with one less person. After getting no new pamphlets for nearly three weeks, one of the older ladies had sent Seren over with a box on a Wednesday, and it had suddenly become a weekly thing. She was a year or two younger than him, with beautiful Welsh looks—dark hair and hazel-green eyes.

“Coffee?” he asked her, already knowing the answer.

“Yes please,” her smile widened as she came around the desk and set her bag down, following him through the bead curtain into the back room. “Busy?”

“Actually, we’ve had a pleasantly calm week,” he replied as he started making the coffee from the smaller more modern machine he kept up here. And he wasn’t talking about the tourist information kiosk, so much as things downstairs with the hub. No major catastrophes, no purple man-eating rats, no vicious creatures dropping out of the rift. Even the weevils seemed to be taking a break. It couldn’t last, however, and he just knew as soon as he really started to enjoy the lull, something calamitous would happen.

“We’re not very busy either,” she replied, sitting down in one of the only two chairs in the room. “The weather’s been unusually bad for this time of year.”

He finished with the coffees and handed one to her, before sitting in the other chair.

“And how’s your sister going? The baby’s what, six weeks old now?” He took a sip, actually looking forward to her answer and falling into an easy conversation with her. Somehow, over the last few weeks, they’d almost become friends. He was pretty sure he now knew more about Seren than he did even Owen.

She waved a hand. “Oh, she’s totally manic, but I guess that’s what happens when you have a baby.”

“You should have seen my sister when she had her first. Nearly took my head off when she threw a pot at me for suggesting that maybe she should sleep instead of doing the washing up.”

“You have a niece or nephew?” Seren asked with a considerate smile, as if she liked finding that they had something in common.

“One of each. They’re older, now, in school.”

They fell into the easy conversation he’d been expecting as they finished their coffees. Before he knew it, nearly an hour had gone by.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” he asked with a touch of concern as he took their empty mugs to the small sink.

“I finished early today.” She came over and stood next to him as he washed the cups and a plate from when he’d eaten lunch earlier. When he finished rinsing, she picked up a tea-towel to dry them.

“You got off work early and wasted an hour sitting here talking to me? You should have said something.” He turned and took a corner of the towel she was holding to dry his hands.

“It wasn’t a waste.”

Something in her tone made him freeze and he looked down at her, realising how close they were standing. His pulse picked up speed, but before he could really work out what was happening, she leaned up and kissed him. For a split second he didn’t react, because Seren was a nice girl, and definitely attractive, but he’d never thought about kissing her. He’d been too wrapped up in missing Jack. The thought was like a physical wave rolling through him. It’d been four months since someone else had touched him in anything other than the most platonic sense and he couldn’t deny that he’d been lonely. Maybe it wasn’t the right reason to kiss her back, but he got caught up in the moment, his hands finding her hips as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, enjoying the sensation. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have the soft curves of a woman pressed up against him.

When he realised exactly where his thoughts were heading, he pulled back, releasing a long breath.

“Wow,” Seren said, sounding a little dazed. He tried not to let that go to his head, but he knew he was a good kisser, since both Lisa and then later Jack had told him exactly that a time or two.

Except, bloody hell. He’d just kissed her. Yes, she’d started it, but then he’d pretty much taken over. What would she expect to happen now? He didn’t know if he was ready to date someone else so soon after Jack. Especially since the thing with Jack had come right on the heels of Lisa. Maybe he needed to be alone for more than a few months.

He dropped his hands from her hips and stepped back. “I’m sorry, Seren, that probably wasn’t a good idea.”

Her features fell as she glanced away from him. “Oh. No, I should be the one apologising. I kissed you, after all.”

“But I kissed you back,” he assured her hurriedly.

“And then some,” she muttered, a slight blush on her cheeks.

He gave a quick laugh. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”

“You weren’t,” she replied. But then she really seemed to think about things. “At least, I didn’t think you were. Is there— You’re already seeing someone else, aren’t you? Of course you are, you’re gorgeous and funny and charming and kiss like—”

She broke off and clamped a hand over her own mouth, clearly embarrassed.

He sent her a smile and reached up to pull her hand down.

“Sorry, I don’t think about what comes out of my mouth when I get nervous,” she said ruefully.

“No worries, its kind of cute, actually.”

The blush on her cheeks intensified.

“But you were right. There was someone else, quite recently. I don’t really know what we were before. Our relationship was kind of casual and undefined. And then he just left without a word and I don’t know if or when he’s coming back—”

“ _He_?” Seren repeated with wide eyes. “So you’re gay, then? But you kissed me—”

“I’m not gay.” He shook his head. “Actually, I don’t know what I am. I thought I was straight until I met Jack. I’m not attracted to any other men, but when it comes to Jack—”

“You love him.”

Her words shocked him, and for a second, all he could do was stare at her. Because sodding hell, she was right. He was in love with Jack bloody Harkness. Except Jack had left. But not before he’d promised Ianto that he would always come back. Maybe he was an idiot, but as his heart pounded hard in his chest, somehow, he knew he’d see Jack again. Not in the too-distant future. But soon. The only problem he had now was that things would be different. When he fell in love, it was all in. He didn’t know how to do anything else. How the hell was he supposed to be in love with Jack, when all Jack wanted was a casual shag and uncomplicated friendship?

“You didn’t realise until literally right that moment, did you?” Seren asked, sounding amused.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair.

Seren gave an affectionate laugh and patted him on the shoulder. “If your Jack is smart, he’ll realise what a good thing he has and be back here before you know it. Thanks for the coffee, Ianto. And for the kiss, if we’re being honest. That was something else. I promised my sister I’d have dinner at her house tonight, so I better run. See you next week?”

“Yup, see you next week.” He waved as she left, but his brain still felt like it’d been put through a spin cycle and he couldn’t catch a clear thought.

He sat heavily on the chair in front of his computer. All these months he’d been desperate for Jack to return, but now he was dreading it. Hoping that maybe it wouldn’t happen for another few weeks or few months even until he could work out what the hell he was supposed to do about being in love with Jack. He didn’t want to get steamrolled, and he didn’t want to end up hurt. But he also didn’t want to continue on with whatever they’d been doing before. So he needed his answers all arranged neatly in his head before Jack turned up and shagged his way back into his life.

The door leading down to the hub opened and Gwen stuck her head out. “There you are, been trying to call you.”

He patted his trouser pockets and came up empty handed. “Sorry, must have left my mobile down in the hub. Problem?”

“Just got a report for some kind of blowfish type alien. Bloody thing stole a sports car, if you can believe it.”

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. “Sounds like we better get on it then.”

Following Gwen back down to the hub, he put the maelstrom of thoughts aside. He’d have plenty of time when he went home later to sit quietly in his flat and work out what he was going to say when he saw Jack Harkness again.

Whenever that might be.


End file.
